


i think i'm catching feelings (and i don't know if this is empathy i feel)

by subgyeom



Series: yugyeom-centric collection [7]
Category: GOT7
Genre: ( but!! this fic isn't dead even though it hasn't been updated in a while ), ( i'm just putting this in the notes section instead of doing an update chapter ), ( the true end should be out at some point in time idk when though lmao ), Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kim Yugyeom-centric, M/M, Minor Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Park Jinyoung | Jr., Minor Park Jinyoung | Jr./Mark Tuan, Self-Harm, Slut Shaming, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide (in Chapter 3), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-08 03:19:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12855609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subgyeom/pseuds/subgyeom
Summary: yugyeom sleeps around a lot. it shouldn't matter, because in the end, yugyeom himself doesn't matter.(yugyeom's been in love with kunpimook foryears. he tries to get the thought of him fucked out of his head. it doesn't worksometimes.)





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from ronbon: “yugyeom is in a one sided love with his best friend bambam so he sleeps around to get over him, no happy ending whatsoever”
> 
> it's ya boi, back with angst!!! i got really inspired by this prompt BUT i have a really hard time leaving fics with sad endings so i decided to do alternate endings: bad end (not happy ending), good end (happy ending) and true end (happy ending but w/ differences). warnings for the fic in general and each specific chapter are in the tags, pls be careful!!
> 
> [also anyone who left me prompts the second time, i've got them all written down but i deleted the work!! don't worry, i'll get to doing them all soon!!]
> 
> (title from sex by eden)

yugyeom sleeps around a lot.

it isn’t a big deal. it shouldn’t be, anyway. it’s just sex, a typical form of intimacy that he shouldn’t be ashamed of (but even with that obvious fact, he can’t help but feel _dirty_ when the act is done and the nameless, faceless figure on top of him is panting into his neck, skin shiny with sweat and his own eyes shiny with unshed tears, as he lies in an unfamiliar apartment because the last time he took a man home, _he_ laughed and called him a slut and waved off his hurt, because it was just a joke, nothing more, and certainly something that shouldn’t have made his skin _crawl_ ). jackson hooks up more than he has and it’s not an issue (but he can’t help but feel like it is, because his hyung is having it for the fun, for the pleasure it brings, while yugyeom uses it like some sick form of punishment, as if the cuts littering his arms weren’t enough, as if the view of _him_ being happy, throwing his head back to chuckle and wrapping his arms around another boy, wasn’t enough to slice deep at his heart and leave him with irreparable scars).

why does it matter that yugyeom arrives at his apartment every night and hear _those_ noises (whines and moans in that voice, that hours ago had been rambling on the phone to him about every little detail of his day; the voice that lulled yugyeom to sleep when the nightmares were too much as a child; that voice, with that impish quality, that made his heart throb with pain every time he hears it) and lock himself in the bathroom just to lie in the water and carve patterns in his arms? why does it matter that yugyeom throws himself into the arms of people he does not know or care for, just hoping for the closeness of a lover, but never getting it (because a lover wouldn’t fuck into him so brutally it burns and leaves an ache that doesn’t leave for days, an ache he survives off because it reminds him of what he truly deserves, and a lover wouldn’t slap him when he refuses another round and hold him down until he stops kicking and screaming, high off power and having a pretty young boy in their bed)? it shouldn’t.

because yugyeom doesn’t matter and that is a simple fact.

-

yugyeom meets kunpimook as a child.

an innocent child who has no idea of the suffering ahead, of the burning want for a boy who will never desire him, not even in just the most carnal of ways. sometimes yugyeom wishes, wishes he could go back to a time where he did not understand why he would turn pink any time kunpimook would lean in close, breath fanning over his lips. wishes he could find himself in a past where all that mattered was that kunpimook meant a lot to him, meant a lot more than anyone else had.

but he can’t go back. memories taunt him and he can’t do anything to fix that, because his entire being is broken, smashed by brutal hands that weren’t even aware of what they were doing, destroyed by a boy who doesn’t care enough to look and see how utterly shattered yugyeom is. and yugyeom wants to hate him for that, pleads to himself that he should begin to despise kunpimook with all of his soul, because then it wouldn’t hurt as much (watching him curl happily into a boy who yugyeom thought was a friend, who yugyeom spilled his feelings to when he was a little too drunk off nothing more than his own sorrow, who yugyeom thought he could _trust_ \- but in the end, it turned out the only thing yugyeom could rely on was the razor he taped to the bottom side of the sink).

yugyeom has loved - been _in love_ with - kunpimook since he was a child. and that does nothing but make the unspoken rejection stab him even more.

-

the man that has fucked him tonight is different.

yugyeom noticed him in an instant the moment he stepped foot in the bar. he’s attractive, with a smaller than average face framed by perfectly swept up blonde hair and thin but still strong-seeming limbs. but he’s nothing like kunpimook, with a noticeably quiet demeanour as he sips carefully at his beer, not an mischievous smirk in sight - but his _eyes_. oh god, his eyes. a pretty brown that shouldn’t be as haunted as they are, glazed over in an expression of hollowness that chills yugyeom to the core, because he witnesses the same emptiness whenever he peers into a mirror.

their gazes meet over the hustle of the dance floor. normally, yugyeom would put on the sultry look that makes men fall to their knees (the entirely wrong kind of men, who lose their outward awe as soon as they have him underneath them, grunting in an entirely sickening way that makes yugyeom feel even more filthy than he knows he already is). but he doesn’t think he needs to, this time. maybe it’s a little wrong, wrong that the only reason the man is putting his drink down and striding across the club is because they share the same horror in their expressions, but yugyeom doesn’t care about that, not when the man is sliding his hand to the small of his back and pulling him into a kiss that tastes _bitter_ , of too much alcohol and too much blood, biting at his lip till it seeps red.

a blur. there is a blur of cars screeching past as he is guided out of the door by surprisingly soft hands, a blur of noise as the man growls as he fumbles with the lock to his apartment, a blur of colour as his clothes are ripped off, a blur of pleasure as he is stretched open and pressed into the sheets and every inch of him is marked with teeth and nails. when the haze has lifted, yugyeom finds himself naked under silk sheets, blearily looking at the blonde man perched up next to him, a cigarette dangling from pink lips.

the man is stoic as he stares down at him. his dark, oh so broken eyes are so piercing, it’s almost as if he can see right through yugyeom, who curls in on himself, as if to hide from a man who seems to know what it’s like to be as messed up as he is. “you have cuts on your arms,” the man states, blowing smoke into the air. yugyeom would have frowned and crinkled his nose at the smell if he wasn’t so used to jaebum doing the same.

“so do you,” yugyeom points out, a little surprised, since no one else had even cared before. he had seen them when the other had stripped bare, but had forgone mentioning them out of kindness. they littered the upper parts of his thighs, trailed up the curve of his hips and disappeared near his ribs. it was hard not to see them, but yugyeom knew better than to bring them up when he was in the middle of getting brought to the edge by careful hands. he knew better than to bring them up at _all_.

“i’m not judging,” the man says, a little cruel smile curving onto his lips. “it’s just an observation.” and he doesn’t say anything more of it and yugyeom finds himself suddenly thankful, overwhelmed by the emotion of it all. because when youngjae had found him with gushing wrists back when they were in high school, he hadn’t fucking shut up about it. and he loves youngjae, adores him with all his heart, and he knows how much he unconditionally cares - but he hated being reminded of how much harm he is doing to himself.

“cigarette?” the man asks, offering his own to yugyeom. and yugyeom hasn’t smoked in years, not since kunpimook stole a box of them off a bunch of upperclassmen and they hid in the bushes and tried them, even though yugyeom couldn’t stop coughing. but suddenly the idea of it sounds like the best thing in the world (maybe because it would be another thing to add to the list of things that are slowly killing him) and so he gratefully slips it out of the other’s fingers, slipping it between his lips without another thought.

“you know,” yugyeom starts, a serene smile painted on his face as the smoke burns at his eyes and the ash drips onto his chest. “i didn’t get your name.”

“it’s mark.”

“nice to meet you, mark. i’m yugyeom.”

-

“who is he?”

that’s the question that leaves mark’s lips when yugyeom is resting on his chest. the sun is peeking through the curtains and sending streaks of light across the room, yugyeom having to squint up to see through the blindness. he isn’t used to this, staying so long that morning begins to arrive, but mark feels… _different_ , somehow, and yugyeom doesn’t want to leave just yet. he is firm under his fingertips, stable, but his voice is wavering, a combination that spikes curiosity in him.

“who’s who?” yugyeom queries, knowing exactly what mark is pondering, but not ready to talk about it, especially with someone he barely knows. if he couldn’t even trust a friend, why bother informing some guy he’d just met and would probably never see again? even if that stranger was possibly the most beautiful boy he’d ever met, with a constantly calm expression despite the fact that his skin is torn open and the fact that he’s falling apart at the seams, and even if that stranger offered a sense of comradery in his suffering. yugyeom had never met a boy as ruined as himself before, but mark seems like he could be on the same road to hell. and for some sick reason, that intrigues him and makes him want to blurt out everything that has ever plagued in. but he won’t. he can’t.

“you know what i mean,” mark sounds disapproving of his avoidance and yugyeom can’t help but frown in response, studying the other’s face as discreetly as he can. he doesn’t know this boy, doesn’t know why he seems to care about yugyeom at all - because they only met, at his estimation, about five hours ago - because all the other has done is push into him ( _gently, not forceful like so many others_ ) and thrust into him till he was sobbing ( _but not from the pain of a fuck not well-prepared or, worse, unwanted - no, from the pleasure flooding his veins_ ) - because all they’ve really bonded over is the fact the two of them like to cut deep until they're coated in red, red, _red_. “who broke your heart?”

yugyeom bites back the want to tell mark to fuck off with his questions, because his tone is searching, as if he truly wants to know for no other reason that solidarity. it’s not as if it matters if some random guy knows, because he can’t use it against him. so he caves and weakly offers a compromise. “i’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?” yugyeom looks up with the most imploring pout he can manage, not missing the wince that runs through the other’s body just barely.

“fine,” mark sighs, a heavy thing, seeming simultaneously world-weary and absolutely terrified of even thinking about whoever has stolen his heart. yugyeom wonders if he ever looks the same when kunpimook crosses his mind. “his name is jinyoung. ‘used to call him junior though.” and yugyeom freezes, the hand he didn’t realise he was running over the unmarked portion of mark’s skin stilling, jostling the fingers that were stroking through his hair. “you know him, i’m guess?” mark’s voice is bland, mainly, but hinted with just a slight bit of confusion.

figures. the asshole never even mentioned him. “yeah,” yugyeom croaks, thinking of the man who had waltzed into jaebum’s apartment one day and quickly pulled him into a playful argument that made him feel alive for once. thinking of the man who yugyeom had spilled one of his two long-lasting secrets, who had swept him into a hug and whispered reassurances into his ear. thinking of the man who had, without a second thought, confessed to kunpimook a few days later. thinking of the man who yugyeom still can’t find it in himself to hate, despite everything. “yeah, i know him.”

“please tell me you’re not in love with him,” mark says, an undertone of desperation present in his voice and yugyeom almost chokes on the loud, hollow laughter that bubbles up his throat.

“god, no,” he snorts, appreciating the brief moment of humour, even if it still manages to feel bleak. yugyeom quiets down quickly and instead tries to hold back the tremor in his voice. “i’m in love with his boyfriend - my best friend.” he clarifies, grateful when mark doesn’t push any further, knowing he probably couldn’t manage any more talk of kunpimook without breaking down.

moments pass of the silence before yugyeom lifts himself up with slightly shaky limbs. he almost wants to run, escape from this stranger’s apartment and bury himself in his covers back home - but home hasn’t felt like _home_ in a very long time and all he really wants to do is get the thoughts fucked out of him. so, instead, he straddles mark’s hips and lets his lips curl into a smirk that probably seems more broken than he wants it to be. he’s never been a good actor. “up for another round?”

mark’s answering smik is equally as broken and for once, yugyeom doesn’t feel alone.

-

yugyeom arrives back at his apartment at midday, with his neck covered in bites he cannot hide and his pocket feeling a little heavier with a new contact.

the others are on the couch, some old drama that the old yugyeom would have fawned over playing on the tv. youngjae and jaebum are cuddled together, ever the loving couple yugyeom knows them to be. jackson is curled up by himself, diligently staring at his phone, probably waiting for a reply from namjoon. and then there is _them._ kunpimook is staring down at jinyoung, lips pulled into a tranquil grin, and jinyoung is staring up at kunpimook, his eyes crinkling around the edges. all happy couples. and then there is him, forever the odd one out. he despises how his wrists itch just at the thought.

jackson snaps up from his phone and blinks at yugyeom’s form in the doorway. he shrinks on himself, cursing the fact that he’d decided to slip out in only one of his long-sleeved shirts, not a turtleneck that could easily cover up the damage done to his fragile skin. “yugyeomie!” jackson instantly perks up from his pouty state, but his quick assessment of the boy leads him into shock. “holy fuck, your neck!” he blurts out.

“nice to see you too, jacksonie hyung,” yugyeom replies, trying his best to put on his imitation of his old self. it’s been working so far and jackson doesn’t seem suspicious, just staring open-mouthed at the decorations of red and purple on his neck. yugyeom doesn’t blame him, considering it looks like he’s been mauled by a wild animal, but he still withers under a gaze that is the opposite of judgemental but still manages to feel it.

kunpimook lets out a low whistle at the sight of him and yugyeom shrinks unnoticeably into himself (the word _slut_ echoing through his head again and again). he’s thankful when jinyoung playfully smacks him on the arm. “leave the kid alone,” he scolds, with a grin on his lips. yugyeom’s answering smile feels thin around the edges and strained, but it must be good enough, as no one protests when he slinks away for a shower.

“you’ve got to tell me everything later,” kunpimook yells over his shoulder.

“no chance,” he replies easily, his back turned away from the group so they won’t see the tears that freely fall down his cheeks. “unlike _someone_ , i’m not that open about my sex life.” and to the laughs of his friends and kunpimook’s indigent noises, yugyeom escapes into the bathroom, locking the door.

and when the gentle spray of the shower washes over him, he watches the blood wash down the drain and wonders when he got this pathetic.


	2. the middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the next chapter! i hope none of this seems awkwardly written, since it's dialogue heavy and that's something i'm still not confident with haha. the next chapter will be the bad end!

“so, who is he?”

that question is haunting yugyeom wherever he goes, it seems. this time, it is jinyoung whose lips it is leaving, staring at him over the rim of his glasses while playing discreetly with kunpimook’s fingers. yugyeom tries to ignore the way his heart twists in pain at their position, his love’s arm thrown over the shoulder of a good friend, letting a pout overtake his features instead of the wounded expression he is sure would have easily appeared instead. “he’s no one important,” yugyeom hopes he sounds just exasperated at the offending words and not like he’s about to break down into pitiful weeping just for seeing the two of them so close like this, because he is sure that he is close to that. he’s been close to that for a while, of course, and it burns behind his eyes, the tears he wants to release. eventually, the dam will break and yugyeom wishes it won’t be in front of these two.

jinyoung snorts, an uncivilised sound that doesn’t match the overly formal man in front of him, and yugyeom almost wants to make fun of him for it, wants to giggle and taunt him for it until the others loses his temper, like he would have not that long ago. but it’s so, so hard for him to fall into that role now, to act as if he was the boy who would slide himself into arguments with jinyoung as easily as it is now to slide a blade over his wrists. so, instead, he sighs and waits for the words he knows he doesn’t want to hear.

“ _of course_ he is,” jinyoung’s overly sarcastic tone is meant to be joking, but it sounds brittle and bitter to yugyeom’s ears, who, after months and months of beating himself up internally, faces any criticism and distrust the same way he faces his own self-destructive thoughts - he locks the memory of them up and lets it come back to him as a direct hit, as the fuel for the fire of self-hatred deep inside, as the driving force behind the movements that create cuts across his pale skin.

“you don’t _just_ have sex with people, yugyeomie,” kunpimook adds and yugyeom very nearly snaps. a _lie_ . it’s a _fucking_ lie. all yugyeom does is have sex with people. all he does is let himself be viciously fucked, taken apart by unfamiliar hands, until he forgets everything that waits for him back in these walls. all yugyeom does is let hands he doesn’t want touch him in ways he wishes another man entirely would and let them treat inhumanely, hitting and slapping and biting until his entire body _aches_. all yugyeom does is slip out of the beds of men he does not know - and walk blindly into the night with cold settling deep in his bones and marks covering every inch of his skin - and slip soundlessly into an apartment that no longer feels like his own - and hide himself away in the tub, scrubbing and scratching until his skin is red raw, because he doesn’t want this, because all sex has ever been for him is some punishment for his sins-

 _breathe_ , he tells himself, and levels an unimpressed glare at his best friend, attempting to control his pounding heartbeat. “well, it’s true,” kunpimook shrugs and he should know it isn’t. after all, wasn’t yugyeom a slut? wasn’t yugyeom the one who’d allowed a man to taint him and ruin his purity in the room right next to kunpimook’s? wasn’t yugyeom the one who had failed in hiding his whiny noises, the sounds that kunpimook would tease him about for weeks, not realising that every taunt made yugyeom quieten more and more? and maybe, just maybe, kunpimook had never meant for those intrusive thoughts to stick when he jokingly called yugyeom _that_ , but they did. and he doesn’t even recall that night.

for a brief moment, yugyeom hates him. but then he remembers that this is kunpimook and yugyeom could never ever feel something so dark for this boy. and then for a not-so-brief moment, he hates himself even more.

“maybe i’ve changed,” yugyeom states, quickly pushing out of his seat to escape the stifling atmosphere. his half-gone cup of coffee rests on the table, but he can’t bring himself to finish it, working on flight mode, slipping on his converse and grabbing his leather jacket, ignoring the glances of amusement jinyoung and kunpimook are clearly sharing. he knows exactly what the two are thinking, is fully aware that they are taking everything he is saying as some sort of denial for the feelings they think he has for a boy they have never met. yugyeom doesn’t have the energy to sit there and try to correct them anymore. “i’m twenty-one, now. people _do_ change as they grow older, hyung.”

“but you’ll always be a kid to us, gyeom-ah,” jinyoung smiles, a cheeky one meant to provoke him even more, but all it does it make him wither. he hasn’t felt like the child the others view him to be for a very long time now, because to be a child is to be innocent, youthful and full of life. and yugyeom? yugyeom feels dead inside. but maturity is subjective, isn’t it? and maturity isn’t only meant to be held by adults. maybe yugyeom can still be considered a kid but still hold the weight of the world on his shoulders. maybe yugyeom can still be more (secretly) sceptical than all of the people who have wormed their way into his heart and still remain young. maybe, despite the facade of unfeelingness and age, jinyoung is far more immature than he lets on, immature enough that the thought of what hurt yugyeom may face when he finds himself in kunpimook’s open arms doesn’t cross his mind. maybe, despite the facade of a lack of understanding and age, yugyeom is far more mature than he lets on, mature enough that he knows to not hold the happiness jinyoung and kunpimook now have because of each other’s presence against them. maybe.

maybe, yugyeom thinks as he close the door behind him and steps into the freedom of seoul, it really doesn’t matter all that much. mature or not, yugyeom is dying.

there’s no ‘maybe’ in regards to that.

-

“are you stalking me?” are the blunt words that leave yugyeom’s mouth when mark sits down opposite him in the corner of a cafe.

the other raises an eyebrow, sipping carefully at his coffee. “we’ve only met twice now and you already think i’m stalking you?” it’s likely meant to be humourous, but it comes out flat, either due to mark’s stoic nature or the fact that yugyeom’s not in the mood for jokes right now. mark shakes his head, staring at yugyeom as he plays with the straw of his iced chocolate drink from nervousness. yugyeom isn’t used to seeing the men who fell into bed with him again, especially not someone like mark, who had been the only one to share similar stories in the damage on their skin. “i saw you sitting by yourself and you looked like you needed some company.”

yugyeom attempts to protest, before realising any argument would be pointless, because, above all else, he _is_ lonely. for a boy constantly smothered by the affection of those around him, he feels alone - sinking into the softness of his couch every night and having his ears filled by jackson’s chattering and jinyoung’s playful bantering, but never quite feeling as if he was involved - as if he was just an observer, witnessing it but never participating. and he’s always shrugged it off, playing it as if it was just his insecurities flaring up because he’s never the centre of attention, but now he knows that he’s just a solitary figure, isolated from the people he cared for the most (people who didn’t even seem to know him anymore, because he hides the true him behind layers and layers of false happiness), and the sense of being an outcast has never become quite as aparent. his mouth slips into a scowl without him even noticing and the man across the table frowns a little at him. “i can leave-” mark starts, but yugyeom cuts him off before he can finish, because for some odd reason, the idea of the other slipping out of his fingers _hurts_.

“sorry,” yugyeom murmurs. if he’d been in another situation, maybe with youngjae or jackson or jaebum across from him, he would have tried, would have let a fake smile strain at his lips as his eyes seemed dead and dreary. but his mind is telling him that he doesn’t need to pretend with mark, maybe because mark already knows more of the horrors that paint and decorate his fragile skin than his friends do and probably ever will, or maybe because mark’s eyes are that same broken brown as they had been the night they first met. “i’m just- i’m not that good with people,” he admits and it’s true, one of the only things that has really stuck with him. yugyeom has always been far more shy than anyone who has attached themself to him, although the cheerfulness that had made him so attractive to others is long gone.

“we can relate on that then,” mark states and yugyeom believes him. if there was one thing he had noticed from the time he had spent trapped in the other’s arms, it was that mark was quiet, just small grunts leaving his lips in contrast the endless stream of noises from yugyeom. but it seems that there is one concrete difference between the two - mark seems confident in his own skin, while yugyeom shrinks under the other’s gaze. “but is there anything else we can?”

yugyeom pauses and meets the stare that is focused upon his face. mark’s searching, wanting - those eyes, the ones that yugyeom can’t help himself from looking deep into, filled with curiosity - wanting to know who yugyeom is and it’s strange, a foreign concept to him. he’s not used to this, used to people intrigued in him, because he knows for a fact he’s nothing special. and so all he lets appear on his face is a smile that tugs too much at the corners, forcing himself to reject the other’s advances. “don’t you already know enough?”

“i know that you like soft kisses. i know that you like it when i put my tongue somewhere i won’t mention. i know that you like having your lips around me.” mark seems almost amused by the red blush that flushes his face, from the curve of his cheekbones all the way up to the tips of his ears, and the real smile that flashes over his lips is possibly the most beautiful thing yugyeom’s ever seen. but it disappeared as quickly as it comes and yugyeom almost feels disappointed at its loss. “i know that you’re like me and that you’re probably even more broken than you seem. but i don’t know _you_.”

“well, there’s not much to know,” yugyeom waves away his questioning with a simple gesture, but mark is quicker than he looks with his skinny frame and seemingly sluggish movements, shooting his hand out to wrap around his wrist. his grip is tight, tight, _tight_ \- and yugyeom whimpers, the pressure against the fresh cuts too much. mark’s gaze snaps up to his face in what seems like uncharacteristic panic and yugyeom can’t help the anger that bubbles up. “and i’m not going to tell you anything anyway because you aren’t going to stick around,” he snaps, a certainty in his eyes. the others may never have left, but that was because they still weren’t aware of the true yugyeom, hidden behind layers and layers of fake - the true, fucked up yugyeom who tries his best to mirror his former self but can never quite succeed - the true yugyeom who had become present the moment mark had witnessed the scars on his arms and the shattered smile on his lips.

“cynical, aren’t you?” mark taunts, tone almost acidic, but the thumb that rubs over his shaking hand is gentle and anything but. yugyeom’s lip is quivering as the marks on his arms _burn_ , his mind screaming at him for ever revealing more of his genuine nature than he should. he’s always been joyful, with loud laughter and smiles with both rows of teeth - but now he isn’t and no one is meant to know. _no one_ is meant to know. he feels like a child, attempting with everything he has to not cry out from the stabbing pain, little droplets of water forming at the corner of his eyes, and he hates feeling like this, like he’s just throwing a stupid tantrum at everything the world keeps throwing at him.

“what do you expect?” yugyeom whispers and he must seem even more pathetic than usual, mark carefully squeezing his hand in an act of comfort and looking at him with his soft, broken eyes. and they sit there like that, not saying much, mark intertwining their fingers in a touch that yugyeom doesn’t really want to fight back against. when mark speaks up again, he is quiet.

“i can tell you don’t talk much about… _this_ ,” mark seems unsure of what to call it, the problems they share - the yearning for men who’ll never wish for them to be in their grasp, the obsession of pain and the relief that follows - and yugyeom imagines that he himself probably doesn’t talk that much about _this_ either. he probably doesn’t talk much at all. “why?”

“i don’t want to burden anyone.” and it may be a textbook answer, but it’s not a lie. dropping his problems right into the lap of another would do nothing but pass on the weariness settled deep inside of him and he doesn’t want to do that. not to youngjae, like sunshine, who never needed to dim. not to jaebum, who was a strong pillar for all of them to rest on, who didn’t need even more issues to deal with. not jackson, whose intensity and cheerfulness was sometimes the only thing that kept yugyeom going. and certainly not to _them_.

“cynical and selfless? what a combination.” mark’s sharp smile seems almost mocking.

“and what about you?” yugyeom can’t help but ask, receiving a questioning stare in return. “maybe i don’t talk much, but what about you?”

“i’ve tried,” mark’s smile strains, turns his pretty face the opposite for a brief moment, with the signs of stress obvious in the lines that crinkle his forehead and his sunken in eyes. he’s exhausted, yugyeom can see, but his facade snaps back in place as soon as he blinks. “it didn’t help much.”

yugyeom smirks, a broken thing like what had decorated his face as he sank down on the other only a few nights prior, mind full of haunting thoughts and his wrists burning, burning and the feeling of another inside of him reminding him of what he can never _have-_

“really? how weird.”

-

yugyeom really doesn’t understand himself sometimes.

he doesn’t understand why he’s in this bed, clad only in a thin shirt that barely covers any of his damaged skin, the sheets laying low over his hips. the heat of summer has started to set in, the fabric sticking to his sweat-soaked skin and messy strands of his dark hair clinging to his forehead. the ache that has settled deep in his limbs in not unpleasant and yugyeom can feel himself grow more admiring of the bruises on his thighs than ever before (maybe because there is no memories of pulling and scratching and slapping till his pale form turned shades of red and purple and blue, of soft hands that were anything but soft in the way they touched him, of men who didn’t know when to _stop_ \- but instead the thoughts of calloused fingers brushing away the hair that fell into his eyes and pushing against the small of his back to trap him close, of chapped lips pressing against the curve of his neck and down, down, down, of a man who knows to stretch him open and break him into sobbing pieces in a way that somehow doesn’t _hurt_ ). mark is next to him, skin bare so yugyeom can stroke his fingers over each little scar, his hand curled around his wrist, tenderly kissing each little mark that litters just a small expanse of his arm.

yugyeom doesn’t understand why he does this. it’s been months since they’ve met and he still doesn’t understand a lot about mark, if he’s being honest.

he still doesn’t understand a lot about himself, either. he doesn’t understand why he’d allowed mark to pull him out of that cafe by their linked hands and drag him back to his apartment, fully expecting that, as mark slid his jacket off his arms, he would just end up in the bedroom again. but mark hadn’t fucked him. mark had made him a cup of hot chocolate and pushed it into hands as he looked up at him with a confused expression. mark had sat beside him and had said absolutely nothing as yugyeom sipped at his drink and hissed when it burnt his tongue. mark had answered the questions he could and didn’t reply to the ones he couldn’t (most tellingly - _why are you doing this?_ ). mark had learnt of the secrets yugyeom had desperately hidden, the skeletons locked inside of his closet, but hadn’t ran away. mark had, the moment yugyeom stepped out of the door, sent him a text letting him know that the other was just a call away if he ever needed him. and yugyeom had rang him that night, had snuggled under the covers and listened to mark ramble and had ignored the way his wrists itched.

but strangely for him, he can’t bring himself to try and understand himself. because it doesn’t matter, not when yugyeom can find some sense of peace in the other’s arms, forgetting a boy named kunpimook who haunts his every thought and instead focusing on the way pointy teeth poke out when mark smiles or the way mark’s voice turns raspy when he’s just woke up or the way mark sings in the shower when he thinks he can’t hear. focusing on how, when he blearily blinks his eyes as he starts to slip out of sleep, mark looks down at him so fondly that it leaves his heart racing, reminding him that it’s beating, that he’s actually alive. but still, there’s another thing he can’t escape that brings to mind how alive he truly is.

red.

red dripping down his arms and caking his skin as it dries just from time, from how long yugyeom stares at his creations, the artwork created by a razor blade. addictions are hard to escape and yugyeom doesn’t think he can. mark can’t either, if the new cuts that appear on his sides every night they meet says anything. they should probably talk about this, but yugyeom doesn’t want to ruin the one relationship he has going for him by spilling his guts, how much he despises his entire being and how sometimes he wishes he could just fucking _die_.

so he doesn’t say anything. just wallows in his lack of understanding for anything around him and lets mark continue to cover his decorations in kisses.

it’s unspoken, but they are both aware of how close they are to the deep end.

-

“where have you been?”

it’s like some stereotypical scene out of one of those trashy teen movies mark secretly likes so much. yugyeom has paused in the doorway, bag half-swung over his shoulder, staring wide-eyed at the scene waiting for him. jackson’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed so tightly across his chest that the muscles bulge, his usually sweet features pulled into that of displeasure. jaebum’s sitting comfortably on the couch, but his entire body is tense, a scowl on his lips, and youngjae’s almost in exactly the same position, unfamiliar on his typically happy-seeming face. jinyoung is as unfeeling as he tries to forever make himself seem, hand resting on kunpimook’s shoulder, who's looking at him with hard eyes that still manage to hurt despite how broken he already is. he’s like some kid sneaking in after curfew with his parents waiting for him just to spew out a lecture.

“um, out?” yugyeom answers, not really sure of what to tell them or what they want to hear. jaebum softens just a little at the sight of his bewilderment, but jinyoung picks up right where he left off, mouth turned down in disapproval at whatever sin yugyeom must have committed this time.

“we’re really worried, gyeom-ah,” jinyoung starts. “you keep going out every night and whatever you’re doing, we don’t think it’s good for you.” oh. _oh._ yugyeom is already beating himself up mentally, because they’ve noticed. of course they’ve noticed. back when yugyeom had allowed himself to be swept away by random men whose faces he couldn’t quite recall, he’d leave in the early hours of the mornings and creep back into the apartment as silently as the pain in his lower back allowed him. but now, now that mark is here, it’s hard. it’s hard to rip himself out of the other’s arms when he feels safe there, safer than he has in months in this fucking hellhole. it’s hard to pretend that mark’s sleepy grumbles when he goes to move away and the way he clings on with all the strength his body has doesn’t make him want to burrow back into his arms. it’s hard to act as if he isn’t already unhealthily attached to a boy whose so, so close to fully falling apart. so he doesn’t. he stays and returns home when the sun is glowing and kunpimook is awake, staring wide-eyed at him over a bowl of cereal, paying full attention to the bites that litter his neck and the fingerprints across his thighs.

“i’m fine, hyung-” yugyeom tries, but jackson cuts him off before he even gets the chance to present his own case.

“no, you’re not.” and his voice is so forceful, so opposite of the jackson who likes long hugs and presses kisses to everyone’s cheeks despite their whining and who likens himself to a turtle and releases so many jokes from his lips in such a short span of time that it leaves yugyeom’s stomach aching from laughter, that it leaves him stuttering. “you’ve got bags under your eyes all the time now. i don’t think i’ve seen you properly smile in weeks. i saw your ribs last week yugyeom, your _fucking_ ribs. whatever’s going on, you’re not okay.”

and yugyeom realises how much he’s fucked up in that moment. because he got so lost in a boy who understood him and wouldn’t judge him for every flaw painted onto him, that he forgot that others would. he stopped hiding his bags with thick concealer, stopped attempting to grin, stopped trying to hide the problems he keeps secret under thick sweaters. and now they know something is truly, truly wrong.

“yugyeom-ah,” youngjae’s voice is so soft that he barely catches the words. “you- you have a lot of bruises, are you being-”

“no!” yugyeom stops him from going any further, because he knows exactly what youngjae is suggesting and mark would never do that. mark wasn’t like the others and yugyeom can’t even connect the idea of _mark_ (all quiet but with surprisingly high-pitched laughter and a smile that could rival the sun even despite how small it could seem) and _hurt_ (sharp pain stabbing at his arms, being fucked into raw with nails tearing and teeth drawing blood). “ma- he wouldn’t do that!”

“he?” kunpimook speaks up for the first time and his voice is low, filled with a dark emotion yugyeom can’t put his finger on. “who is _he_ ?” and yugyeom shrinks into himself, bites his lip and tries to think of some elaborate lie that will fool them - because he doesn’t want to reveal who mark is. mark is his own secret, his alone, and no one else deserves to hear of the time they’ve spent together, of the comfort he provides. all his silence does is work to prove their point and all yugyeom wants to do right now is _cry_ , because everything he’d locked away is slowly breaking free right in front of him.

“yugyeom, you can tell us anything, you know that?” and all jinyoung’s kind words works to do is make his eyes start to glisten. “whether or not there is one guy involved, or many. we’ll deal with anyone who hurts you, okay?” _then how will you deal with me_ , yugyeom wants to whisper, but he’s lost all ability to speak, his throat starting to tighten as the onset of panic begins.

“look,” kunpimook’s tone is _sour_ , nothing like the sweetness yugyeom is used to hearing from his lips. it’s such an off putting noise that everyone’s heads turns his way and he just stares them all down, his face blank, not filled with his usual bold emotion. he seems almost robotic and it frightens yugyeom. “if he wants to be fucked like a whore, does it really matter?”

and that’s what yugyeom shuts off.

 _that_ word is being chanted in his head again and again, over and over, until it’s the only thing he can register, screaming over the sudden noise that fills their apartment, the words of the other’s that yugyeom can’t bring himself to think about-

_whore, whore, whore, whore, whore-_

“kunpimook, what the fuck?” youngjae blurts out and if yugyeom was paying attention, he would have found himself somewhat shaken by how easily the curse slips out of his mouth, but he’s lost in his own head, swept away for good-

_‘what a good little whore you are’ -_

“what?” kunpimook seems bored by the distress of those around him and it’s so unlike him, unlike the boy who cares with his whole heart, that they are alarmed into quiet. “he didn’t seem that bothered before. if he likes that sort of thing, i’m not going to judge him”-

_hands rough against his skin, bruises blossoming on every inch of space, pain shocking through him, hurting and screaming and fighting against it all but his resolve ever dying with every second because he can’t fucking break away-_

“you’re judging him right now! who the fuck calls their best friend a whore, bammie? what is wrong with you-”

“yugyeom,” jaebum’s clearly disturbed, if the way his voice is wavering is anything to go by, and in that moment, he is so far from their strong leader that it hits them all that whatever is happening to them, it’s doing some damage. “yugyeomie, are you okay?”

when eyes peer up, they’ll find yugyeom standing there. his eyes are lacking - there’s no sense of confusion anymore, or the broken yugyeom always notices when he looks in the mirror. instead, he’s unresponsive, mouth slack and stare towards the ground, impassive. his bag falls off with his limbs limp, hitting the ground with a thud that doesn’t seem to snap him out of it. yugyeom’s always full of emotion, whether it be negative or positive, and the lack of anything human is so utterly wrong that uncertainty seeps into kunpimook’s expression.

“yugyeom?” kunpimook’s voice is weak.

yugyeom looks up and meets his gaze.

and then he turns on his heel and runs out of the door.

_and he remembers the night he lay in the tub and curved the word ‘whore’ into his arm._

_and he wonders if he even knows kunpimook at all anymore._

_and whether or not kunpimook has ever known him._


	3. the bad end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the first of three alternate endings!! this one is a lot shorter than the other two, mainly because i found it really difficult to write. as much as i love angst, i hate leaving it without a happy ending, but this fits more to the prompt than the other two so...
> 
> WARNING: this chapter specifically features suicide. 0/10, would not recommend, if that is a possible trigger for anyone reading!! please be careful!

the sun is shining over seoul. and yet yugyeom still feels so cold.

ice is crawling it’s way through him, from the tip of his nose down to the tip of his fingers to the tip of toes. the chill creeps over every inch of his already pale skin, turning it a sickly shade that, paired with the harsh dip of his ever present cheekbones and the heavy circles underneath his eyes, likely makes him look like a rotting corpse, a dead man walking. for a second, yugyeom wonders if the bitterness nipping and biting at him is turning his lips blue or his face red. then he realises that the raw cold is all in his head and he’s probably losing any sense of sanity he had left in him. great.

the tears that begin to spill from the corner of his eyes and make a pathway down his cheeks are hot, in contrast to the freezing feeling that has numbed him. the feeling of his sweater is suddenly stifling, scratching against his fragile arms, wrapping him in an unwelcome surge of heat. yugyeom wonders if the sudden switch between different feelings is a sign of his dive into madness. he also wonders if he looks like an idiot, sniffling while quietly knocking his hand against the door, dressed in clothing not at all suited for the weather. he realises he probably shouldn’t care, for his self-consciousness is not needed when he probably won’t be here for much longer.

when the door clicks open, mark is standing there. hours have passed since sunrise, but the other seems to have just woken up, hair in disarray and his body only covered by a pair of sweatpants that have been hastily thrown on. fresh cuts trail up his side, further than ever before, and yugyeom’s hazy gaze is transfixed upon them, before focusing on his face. his eyes are full of badly veiled confusion and his mouth is curled down into a frown, his voice soft when he lets out one word in a sleepy murmur. “yugyeomie?”

and it might be because the familiar nickname sounds so sweet in contrast to the harsh slur that yugyeom didn’t even want to think of or it might be just the sight of the boy in front of him bringing a sense of safety and home. either way, yugyeom is bursting out into sobs, heavy things that rip out of his chest as he vaults himself into mark, burrowing his face into his neck as his whole body shakes from the force of his weeping. mark’s arms wrap around him as if on instinct, quickly pulling him through the door and slamming it shut behind him, locking the two of them away from the world that can never seem to give them a break.

“oh, darling,” mark sighs. “what happened?”

yugyeom doesn’t know what to tell him.

-

“mark?” yugyeom’s voice is just a soft whisper. the pair are laying in soft sheets, legs tangled together, as close as can be. yugyeom has a feeling that the touch of mark’s warm skin against his cool own is the only thing anchoring him down to earth right now. he also has a feeling that it might be the same for the other as well.

“yes darling?” mark’s voice is equally as tender, his calloused fingers brushing away the tears that just won’t stop falling from yugyeom’s red-rimmed eyes, even after hours have passed. he’s got this look in his eyes that yugyeom can’t quite name - a mix of the misery that is always present and the fondness yugyeom hopes he has been the only one to witness.

yugyeom swallows, avoiding mark’s gaze as he stutters out the words he wishes he didn’t have to say. “i- i don’t think i want to be here anymore.” every part of him screams against it, but he knows this is his want, his need, the intensity above all else, above even his unconditional adoration for _him_ and the emotions he still can’t describe for the boy cradling him. “everything hurts. i just want it to _stop_.”

“... unfortunately, darling, i feel the same way.” and the words still manage to send a sharp pang of pain through yugyeom, because he so desperately prays every night that mark won’t feel this way, won’t be swept away in the sorrow like yugyeom has been. his prayers are useless. mark still hurts and that only manages to make yugyeom even more despairing than he had found himself before, dipping down to press a kiss against the other’s collarbone than only brings out a small smile, that doesn’t help at all.

“i don’t want to hurt anyone, mark. i don’t want to disappoint the others, but i don’t think i can carry on much longer. i just want to be free from all this.” ‘this’ means a lot of things. it means the desire that fills his heart, grabs it in a vice grip and never _fucking_ lets go. it means the way his wrists tingle no matter where he goes, craving the release he gains from a quick scratch or a slow cute. it means the self-hatred that he has bottle up inside, ready to burst, ready to flood over and sweep him away in everything he’s ever despised about himself (which is, honestly, everything). but ‘this’ has never, ever meant mark, and he clutches at the other, pulling him close as humanly possible because mark is the one thing he doesn’t want to lose, doesn’t want to leave behind.

“darling?”

“yes, mark?” yugyeom peers up at the other and doesn’t miss the look of intense affection at his curious tone that passes through his eyes, a look that warms yugyeom more than anything else could, even if for just a moment before the cold takes over again.

“i’d follow you to ends of the earth now, you know that?”

“mark?” yugyeom doesn’t understand the sudden statement of his devotion, even if he is delighted by it.

“i think i’d been fine following you to heaven as well.”

and suddenly, yugyeom understands.

-

the tiles of the bathroom are freezing beneath his knees.

mark’s fingers are cold against his own.

“i want to fly,” yugyeom whispers against mark’s lips, lips that taste of ice and home, all in one. “will you fly with me?”

mark says yes, as surprisingly warm blood spills against the floor.

their souls combine as one.

the pair are gone.

-

kim yugyeom and tuan mark die in each other’s arms.

park jinyoung finds them curled into each other. all he wanted was to rope another person into locating his missing friend. instead, he screams, the image of two boys bleeding out, their lifeless eyes focused on each other, forever engraved into his mind.

any sense of happiness bhuwakul kunpimook had left in him is lost when he receives the call that his best friend has left this world, gone without a single world.

and as the others mourn for them, yugyeom and mark are in the clouds.

forever in each other's arms.


	4. the good(?) end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long to update this!! this was originally going to be just a yugbam-focused ending that was more noticeably happy, but it turned more into an open ending where it could be ending in yugbam or could be ending in markgyeom or could be ending in both. it's up to anyone reading really, what happens after the end of this ending. hope you enjoy!! the true end (markgyeom-focused only, likely longer than this one and the bad end) will hopefully be up soon!!!

yugyeom should feel so,  _ so  _ cold. 

a summer shower is soaking the streets, water seeping through the thin material of a shirt that will show too much skin, will turn transparent and place the marks that litter his skin on show for everyone to see (every bite of mark’s sharp teeth, every fingerprint from strong but brittle hands, every punishment of his own making). the air is warm, marked by the season that yugyeom has begun to hate (because it brings too many questions -  _ it’s summer gyeom-ah, why are you still wearing long sleeves? you don’t have to stay inside all day anymore, it’s so hot out, don’t you like that? we could go to the beach, couldn’t we? _ ), but the water hitting violently against his fragile form is anything but - as icy as the blood that runs through his veins, as cold as a heart turned to stone. 

he should feel the chill creeping across his frame, the one that left him shivering just hours prior - but he can’t. everything  _ burns _ . the tears tracking down his cheeks feel like flames scorching his pale flesh, his wrists itch and scream and blaze with the need for some form of relief, his limbs aching with every step, every movement of his downward spiral reflected in reality. yugyeom’s smoldering like still-burning ashes, remnant from a much larger flame - and the optimist he used to be would say something sappy, would compare himself to a phoenix rising from the horror he’s witnessed - but all he can liken himself to now is something insignificant. not the spectacle of something bigger, something  _ brighter  _ \- but what’s left behind, what’s ignored.

it’s late now. the streets are empty and all he happens to be is a lone figure accompanied by the slowly dwindling number of passing cars and the streetlights that pave his journey to nowhere and the moon that shines over the city, just reflecting the light of something more important. yugyeom relates to it on that, relates to a big chunk of rock situated in the sky more than he does his own closest friends - because he’d always been so dependant, so unhealthily dependant, on someone else to give him energy, to turn him into the cheerful piece of sunshine every had thought he’d been. and once that anchor had moved away, he’d lost that, lost the ability to live off the other in a way that was shameful, sinful. 

_ “if he wants to be fucked like a whore, does it really matter?” _

_ “does it really matter?” _

_ ‘does he really matter?’ _

_ no i don’t, kunpimook, _ yugyeom thinks to himself, not even bothering to push away the hair that’s beginning to fall into his eyes as he races across the road - because it wouldn’t really affect him if a car he couldn’t see, couldn’t even notice through his haze of self-loathing, smashed into him - wouldn’t really make much of a difference to his muddled mind, because pain is something he thrives off now. in fact, as much as he hates to admit it, he wouldn’t be bothered if it did. and would anyone care, care if in a minute his heart stopped and his brain shut down and he was truly no more (as if he hadn’t been gone long before that, as kim yugyeom wasn’t already dead)?

_ mark _ , his mind offers, flashing through images of  _ soft blonde hair  _ and  _ pretty brown eyes  _ and  _ a head thrown back in hysterical laughter at something that wasn’t really that funny  _ and  _ that beautiful smile that made butterflies flutter in his stomach in a way he’d never experienced  _ and- and yugyeom chokes on a sob that rips through him, because maybe he’d become accustomed to the thought that no one truly held affection for him when it came to those he’d known for so, so long. but the thought of mark, of utterly broken but utterly magnetic mark, who hypnotized yugyeom with every utterance and enchanted him with every touch of his fingers, not even  _ caring _ fucking hurt in a way yugyeom didn’t know he could feel.

hand hesitating at the pocket of his jeans, yugyeom wonders if it’s best from him to call, wonders if he deserves it - deserves every comforting word that falls from mark’s lips in the quiet of the night when no one else will hear their intimate conversation, deserves each embrace that mark will slip into without uncertainty, deserves each kiss against every part of his long form that manages to make him feel wanted, somehow, deserves-

he hears it then. 

“yugyeom!”

kunpimook’s far too expensive boots are slamming down against the sidewalk hard enough to leave lasting marks and the designer coat he cherishes is soaked through, thick material dripping as he nears yugyeom - but from the way his eyes are only focused on yugyeom and yugyeom alone (for once in his life), he gathers that the state of his precious clothes (that he held in such a high regard, higher than he’d ever held yugyeom) don’t matter in this moment. white hair is plastered to his forehead and the dark makeup that always coats his eyes is slowly losing it’s immaculacy, but he still seems unbothered, screeching yugyeom’s name in such a loud pitch that the whole of seoul is likely awoken from their sleep. 

“yugyeom!” kunpimook loses his speed the moment he reaches yugyeom’s side, quickly grasping at yugyeom’s shoulders so tightly that it should hurt (because his frame is so small now, once wide shoulders shrunken, once thick thighs bony, a once strong man now just a little boy), but doesn’t because of the numbness that has seeped into his bones. those piercing eyes scour over every inch of him, taking in the way his body trembles despite that lack of feeling, the way eyes are just that little bit unfocused, the way he seems as if he’s about to break in two. “oh, fuck, yugyeom, we were so worried,  _ i  _ was so worried, what were you thinking-”

and as the other rambles, yugyeom can’t help the unexpected surge of anger - because he loves kunpimook, adores him with every piece of his shattered soul, but  _ this  _ (the insults that weren’t meant to be insults but still were, were always, because they always laughed at him and not with him -  _ whore  _ and  _ slut  _ and the teasing of the pitch of his voice when he got too lost in the pleasure that made him  _ forget  _ \- and the blaming, the forcing of guilt he didn’t deserve, because he was thinking, he was thinking of how much everything fucking  _ hurts  _ and how much he wants to  _ escape _ ) was too much.

“bammie.” yugyeom cuts him off and doesn’t even feel bad for the expression of mixed annoyance and worry that passes over the other’s features for a brief second. in fact, he relishes in it, relishes in how, for once, kunpimook actually responds, actually has some essence of concentration on him instead of the boy he’s in love with. he tilts his head and  _ smiles _ , a sickly sweet smile that contrasts perfectly with the quivering of his limbs and hollow look in his eyes. “you called me a  _ whore _ ,” and kunpimook winces and yugyeom can’t stop the sense of victory he feels, just for a second. “even though i don’t  _ just  _ have sex with people,” an almost exact utterance of kunpimook’s former words, matched in tone and all, that the other likely never thought he’d remember (but he did, oh god, he did). 

the next words will break kunpimook’s heart.

yugyeom wants them too.

“why did you think i’d want you to find me?”

yugyeom had always followed kunpimook around, almost like a lost stray tailing the first person to ever show it kindness. it had been that way since they were children, back when kunpimook had been just a small boy who captured the hearts of everyone around him and yugyeom was his slightly awkward, just a little too tall for his age best friend. it had been that way for years - when kunpimook suggested they’d go to the same university together and yugyeom had agreed. when kunpimook had suggested sharing an apartment together and yugyeom had agreed. when kunpimook had suggested they could practice some of the more intimate things they happened to be inexperienced with together and yugyeom had agreed. yugyeom had always followed kunpimook, but now, he thinks things could be different. maybe for once, he could disagree. maybe for once, he could make a decision that was better for himself.

maybe for once, he could be the one to cause the hurt. 

-

the climb to recovery is a long one.

therapy isn’t as hellish as he would have presumed, because while it’s irritating and he surely isn’t ready to spill his guts to anyone other than his anchor ( _ mark,  _ he murmurs quietly when asked who trusts the most in one of the sessions), the doctor is patient in a way he appreciates. her eyes soften the moment she witnesses the mess of hair atop his head and the bags that are permanently etched beneath his eyes and the way he winces sharply whenever someone speaks a little too loudly - and she doesn’t push, just nods appreciatively whenever yugyeom opens up, even just a small amount. 

it’s the reactions of his friends that hurt the most. 

he doesn’t go into as much detail as he could when he lists everything he’s faced, every little problem thrown his way - doesn’t ramble about  _ wandering hands _ and  _ unwanted kisses _ and  _ the harshness of hits and slaps against easily bruised skin _ \- but he does curl shaking fingers into his sleeve and reveal the most damaged part of him (other than his heart, the heart he can’t believe is still beating, hidden away in a weak cage of muscle and bone that cannot protect it from human hurt), where scars raise from the skin in a bump that is far too noticeable. 

jaebum, strong jaebum who has always been the most stable of all of them, bursts into tears at the sight of them - and it’s so wrong, so utterly wrong, that it almost breaks yugyeom more than everything else that has plagued him does. his arms wrap around his wide shoulders on instinct, trapping the other in an embrace that leaves yugyeom quaking, because only one man has touched him in months, has held him close, and the contact is almost too much for this starved boy - but the moment is almost as much for jaebum’s comfort as it is for yugyeom, and that just hurts him even more. 

youngjae’s quiet in a manner that doesn’t suit him, doesn’t reflect the bubbly personality that made yugyeom so platonically attracted to him - most likely because he knows. he remembers - blood pooling on the floor and wrists torn open and (somehow) still innocent eyes peering up at him in shock and so many pleading words ( _ please don’t tell anyone, i promise i won’t do it again! _ ) - and yugyeom fears that, fears the disappointment he knows too well, fears that youngjae will take one glance at his pathetic state and will simply walk away. his fear is unfounded when he walks closer, curls a hand over his shoulder (as if to hold him, hold him down to earth) and presses a kiss against his forehead that leaves him sniffling, almost ready for the dam to burst and tears to streak down his cheeks.

jackson’s wide eyes are full of emotion but his mouth is clamped shut, uncharacteristic of him in a way that leaves yugyeom unsettled, not used to the lack of noise in this always energetic apartment - and he wants that, wishes for that sense of normality even though they’ll likely never feel normal again. but he’s forever grateful when jackson wraps his strong arms around his stomach, nuzzling his nose into his neck in a comforting way that only he could manage, the sense of home and safety and security filing his senses. 

jinyoung is unsure, allowing uncertainty to seep past his stoic facade, the guilt so blatant on his royal features that it tears at yugyeom - because he doesn’t blame jinyoung for any of this, because he understands more than anyone how it’s impossible to fight against your own desires, because he knows how much the other truly cares beneath his outward harshness. and so he lets the words fall from his lips - “jinyoungie-hyung, it’s  _ okay _ ” - and watches him crumble, curving his arms around yugyeom’s waist and pressing his face into his back, tears soaking through his shirt at the feeling of his delicate ribs.

kunpimook is staring at the scene in front of him.

yugyeom meets his eyes over the mess of limbs encircling him.

and the brief period of rage is forgotten about, because yugyeom is weak, far too besotted for his own good.

“bammie.” he murmurs, his voice filled with the adoration he works too hard to veil, eyes half-lidded as he gazes at the boy he loves too much, fawns over when he knows he shouldn’t. kunpimook swallows under his heavy gaze and yugyeom traces it, pays close attention to the hesitation present and he glances with want - want to be there, want to feel yugyeom underneath his fingertips, want to be convinced that he’s still here, he’s still alive. “bammie, come here.”

and, for once, kunpimook does something yugyeom so desperately wishes he would.

-

yugyeom hears a lot of things he shouldn’t.

most of the time, it’s less to do about what is actually being said and more about how yugyeom takes it - because he’s a master of overthinking things, of taking things that haven’t been implied and making them the meaning of everything he notices, because he hates himself too much to even take the obviously good as anything but the obviously bad. this time, it isn’t.

_ shouting and screaming, words that are filled with too much hurt and pain and intense rage, that remind yugyeom of deep voices yelling at him every time he pushed away hands that neared places that weren’t theirs to touch and fought against grips that pushed him against the nearest surface and held him there, held him down, can’t move, can’t move, can’t  _ **_breathe-_ **

and before he can stop himself, he’s throwing his hands over his ears and letting out a loud whimper that settles the screeching into silence for a few seconds, followed by harsh whispers, and then the sound of a door slamming shut. 

it takes a few moments to bring himself back, to edge away the panic that threatens to send him into a frenzy, breathing deeply with the exercises his therapist had taught him and he had diligently slaved over to memorise - and when he’s settled, against possible better judgement, he’s carefully peeking through the crack in his door. 

kunpimook’s sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees with his head buried in his hands, exhaustion clear in the way his back is slumped and his entire body seems as if he’s shrinking in on himself - and it pulls tightly on yugyeom’s heartstrings, because this is kunpimook, forever upbeat kunpimook, whose becoming more and more broken with the weight of everything around him piling up on his shoulders - and yugyeom hates this, hates how it’s becoming like a mirror everytime he sees kunpimook in the morning.

“bammie?” he whispers, trying his best to control the way his voice wavers as to not leave kunpimook even more burdened. the boy’s head snaps up, red-rimmed eyes filled with so much shock that it nearly sweeps him off his feet, and he can’t help the noise of worry that escapes his lips, quickly sitting down next to the shaken boy and placing a delicate hand on his arm. “what happened?”

kunpimook is slow in answering, seeming to fight with himself over something before dropping his head on yugyeom’s shoulder, the close contact making him tense in a way that is (thankfully) unnoticeable. “jinyoung broke up with me,” his voice is dejected in a manner that doesn’t suit such a lively boy, but it’s the words that leave yugyeom confused - because he knows jinyoung, knows the adoration he’s held for kunpimook for so long - and he just doesn’t  _ understand _ . “he- he said he loves me, but he’s in love with someone else as well and he couldn’t do this anymore, said it was best for the both of us-”

and kunpimook delves into mindless babble that yugyeom can’t concentrate on, because jinyoung is in love with someone, in love with someone other than kunpimook and he knows someone who was and likely still is in love with jinyoung, and he’s so fucking greedy but he doesn’t want to lose  _ him _ -

and then kunpimook lets out a small sob and yugyeom forces out every other thought from his head, trying to not focus on the boy he still hopes will be his and instead trying to focus on the boy he has forever hoped to call his own.

“it’s gonna be okay, bambam.”

(and if yugyeom deliberately goes out and has his hair dyed an obnoxious shade of yellow just to see the mirth appear on kunpimook’s face, just to cheer him up, no one has to know.)

-

they’re rushing behind the stage of a dancing competition when kunpimook realises how different things have become. 

it’s been so, so long since any of them have seen yugyeom so energetic, commanding the attention of everyone in the room with the confident smirk on his face and how fluidly his body moves, as if the rhythm is crafting itself in time with each push and pull of his limbs - because while everything has left him unsure, dancing is fixed, a certainty, something he can always trust in. it’s not a shock when he’s called out for first place and the breathtaking smile that takes over his features, framed by the genuine happiness in his sparkling eyes and the lemon-coloured hair falling over his forehead in waves, leaves him stuttering for reasons he’s yet to understand.

“where’s our dancing machine?” jackson calls out, gazing all over, past disappointed dancers who couldn’t catch a top place and past the staff who seemed tired by the day full of work, before he stops, glancing off into a corner and just staring, seemingly transfixed, before raising a shaky hand to point. “um, guys?”

kunpimook follows jackson’s gaze, not entirely convinced it’s anything of note, until he too lands on the scene waiting for him.

yugyeom’s there, clad in his all black outfit for the showcase, hair plastered to his forehead from the sweat and still joyful grin decorating his face, award and flowers still held tightly against his chest - but there’s a boy in front of him. he’s attractive, that much kunpimook can’t deny, with a small face and hair that seems newly dyed red from the lack of noticeable roots - but what’s most shocking is how he’s gazing up at yugyeom as the boy bounces on his heels and rambles excitedly, as if the boy is the only thing that matters, as if he’s the sun, blinding out every other person in the room with the light he exudes. 

for some reason, the affection present between the two causes a vice to tighten around kunpimook’s heart.

jinyoung gasps beside him and kunpimook barely flinches at the sound of his ex-boyfriend, the heartbreak that used to affect all of him, every inch of his being, having calmed into a smaller ache. it’s the hurt that flashes through his eyes at the sight of the pair that captures his attention, his voice rising in his pitch as he begins to chatter. “wait, that’s-”

and then he’s cut off by his shock and kunpimook doesn’t blame him.

the boy murmurs something, smiling with both rows of sharp teeth at the blush that spreads across yugyeom’s high cheekbones at whatever compliment feel from his lips - and then he’s moving forward, almost as if he’s a predator nearing his prey, pressing two fingers underneath his chin and pushing his downcast head upwards - leaning forward so, so close before their lips connect softly, an arm gently wrapping around yugyeom’s waist, in a touch that’s so, so delicate, flowers crushed between them as the boy kisses yugyeom like his life depends on it - and when they pull away, yugyeom looks dazed, the boy presses kisses all over his flushed face, and maybe kunpimook would have found it endearingly sappy if he wasn’t suffocated in an emotion he doesn’t understand.

envy.

“yugyeom!” jackson calls out before anyone can stop him and yugyeom’s head snaps over, the red flush that overtakes his features so noticeable against his pale skin. he seems unwilling to near them in his embarrassment, but the boy by his side entwines their fingers carefully, rubbing a thumb against his knuckles, looking up at his like he’s the sun before pulling him their way.

“hey, guys,” yugyeom’s voice is soft, his eyes focused on the ground as the red travels all the way to the tips of his ears, and the boy beside him chuckles at the blatant show of shame.

“nice to meet you all, i’m mark,” the boy - mark- is gifted with a tone full of amusement, but his eyes never leave yugyeom’s face, eyes full of such pure fondness that it leaves kunpimook feeling as if he’s intruding on a moment he shouldn’t be. “i gather yugyeom hasn’t talked about me?”

“you’re the guy he’s been fucking!” jackson blurts out, but mark just laughs.

“yes, i am,” mark replies, before turning his head, something flashing through his expression that kunpimook can’t name. “nice to see you, junior.”

“mark.” jinyoung nods, but there’s pain present in his eyes, hidden in a way only someone who understands everything about the boy would notice. oh.  _ oh _ .

they’re in one big mess, aren’t they? kunpimook sighs, moving forward to shake mark’s hand. “nice to meet you, mark, i’m bambam!”

“you’re bambam, huh?” mark smirks, and there’s something feral in his face that leaves kunpimook slightly terrified. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

and for some reason, that unsettles him.

as mark makes himself known throughout the group, conversing quietly with the others, kunpimook takes all the courage left in him and moves towards yugyeom whose staring at the scene with happiness kunpimook hasn’t witnessed in a while. “yugyeomie?” yugyeom peers at him, his eyes naive in such a manner that shocks him, because he knows the other is anything but - and it sparks hope that maybe, just maybe, yugyeom is regaining some of his former self. “i figured we could go out for a celebration meal? just the two of us, like old times?”

and yugyeom smiles.

“i’d like that, bammie!”

and kunpimook can’t get the feeling of his head that someone is staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possessive mark is my favourite thing okay


End file.
